Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Aubade for Laurel and Ascending


Fragile wrists jeweled by stars
thin arms raised above the wind
hold the horned owl wings.
Both free and soothing gray,
like a drybrushed autumn
in a Helga painting.

Dance now. Dance while your
bones are hollow, dance and let
the red leaves scatter with your swirls.
And you, Ascending, show her
the face to become print
in the loose flap of a book.

Dawn. It rises like a mountain
and the star dance must end.
Desdend. Its slope is
treacherous and cold like
a poem not written, like a
book thrown in the river.

Give your anger to the sun.
It stole the gentle voice who
told how pigeons congregate
under ripples of the sea.
The voice that showed you
a small mirror in the shape of a book.


didi said...

this is beautiful - I would say this is the most beautiful poem I have read by you. Yes I would say that.

keros said...

Thanks D. I was not going to write for this challenge, but I am glad I did. Great idea on your part, please check for green stains by your writing desk.

666poetry-finchnot said...

dq /

i would so have to agree
w/ didi / / this is such a
beautiful poem / you have
such an incredible gift for
words & stringing them together

the voice is so eerily laurel's

bravo / well done

like this much lee


LKD said...

You know, I have that book of the Helga paintings, and went to see the exhibit when it came to town. They're some of my very favorite paintings by anyone, ever. How did you know that??

Wonderful poem, sir.

Thanks for this, Keros.

didi said...

Ascending told him Laurel.


keros said...

I have the Helga book too. Saw the exhibit at the Mint Museum in Charlotte NC. You mentioned Autumn in your muse description. Autumn reminds me of Wyeth, so does winter. Your Muse must have spoken to mine.